


Eyes don't lie

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [67]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x4, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eye Contact, F/M, Fluff, Loads of it, Season 8, The drinking game isn't a drinking game, The hand holding that deserved a lot more, staring contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: At the celebration feast, Tyrion plans a new game for his brother and the woman he's been pining for.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 26
Kudos: 143





	Eyes don't lie

**Author's Note:**

> Now, this had been haunting me for hours, and I just had to write it.  
> Silly fluff, really.  
> Enjoy and thank you for reading!

“Just another sip,” coaxed Tyrion, urging Pod to pour her some more. 

Brienne politely shook her head and covered her glass with her palm. While a part of her wished to push aside her inhibitions, unaccustomed to such celebrations, she decided to stay within the barriers she’d erected for herself. 

But what came next, was something she was totally unprepared for. 

Jaime’s hand was on hers, firm and tight, his eyes binding her in a gaze she found it difficult to evade, his charming smile captivating her, as always. Her breath caught in her chest, all she could do was let herself be arrested by him, wide-eyed and shaken for a minute. No man had ever touched her like this before. No man had ever looked at her like this. She gulped, unable to withstand the sensations this was causing - a little tingle, a little shiver and so many vivid images her mildly-drunken imagination was beginning to conjure. She couldn’t pull away either, the warmth of his skin beginning to work its magic all over her, reminding her of their dinner at Harrenhal, a different day, a different age; one that marked the beginning of whatever it was, that they shared today.

“We fought the dead and survived. If this isn’t the time to drink, then when is?” he said, or something that meant something like this, for Brienne’s mind wasn’t in the state to register his exact words and draw any sense out of them. His touch was all her muddled head was full of, and his eyes melting her down like a helpless block of ice surrounded by a raging fire.

“Your hand, Jaime,” she breathed, managing her first few words after seconds that seemed like an eternity. “ _Ser_ Jaime, I mean,” she immediately prefixed his title, hot flushes rising up her face as she wished he wouldn’t notice her lapse.

“ _Jaime_ is just fine.” His grip tightened over her fingers when he replied with an innocent, “And what’s wrong with my hand, Brienne?”

Her fingers twitching under his, she begged him with her eyes, hoping he’d show mercy on her and spare her the remarks of his brother whose keen observation caught everything. But just like she dreaded, an artificial cough from his right brought them out of their trance, reminding them that they were surrounded by a sea of people. Jaime pulled her hand away, lingering on to it a second extra before he released it and refilled her empty goblet.

“If you’re done with your _conversation_ , let’s play a game,” Tyrion cheerfully suggested, grinning at them from ear to ear.

Before she could think of an excuse to wriggle away from further embarrassment, Jaime, fortunately, stamped down the idea with a determined, “Not your drinking game again.”

“Not that one,” his brother replied, a wicked gleam taking over his brilliant Lannister eyes. “During my journey East, I made up a few more, one among that, called _t_ _he Staring game._ ”

Jaime’s head was on its way to a vehement denial. “No.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grumpy old man,” Tyrion whined. “We’ve fought the dead and survived,” he went on, his eyes shining with mirth and hidden intent. “If this isn’t the time to celebrate, then when is?”

Jaime glared at him for a second, then with a long-drawn sigh, conceded to this odd request which, in Brienne’s view, appeared to be the gateway to more embarrassment. She was about to excuse herself and get away, but when he met her eyes for a flash of a second, imploring her to play along, she found it next to impossible to refuse.

“Very well,” she agreed, trying not to dwell too much on what might come of this. “What is this game and what are we supposed to do?”

“It’s a staring contest, not unlike something we’ve all played as children,” Tyrion explained, his face lighting up. “We’re supposed to stare into each other’s eyes, unblinking, unshaken. The first to relinquish control and surrender to their opponent’s gaze, loses.” And before Brienne could comprehend whatever he’d just told her, he added, “You and my brother first. Go on. Start.”

“What--” she began to protest, aghast, but distracted by Jaime’s eyes on hers, the rest of her objection faded away into thin air.

And then it came upon her again, the attack she dreaded, yet ached for so much.

Her world began shrinking, the people around them reducing to indistinct blobs, the buzzing noise all over the place slowly diminishing into nothing but a hushed breathing - his and hers, as she found herself sinking deeper and deeper into him. 

Within no time, everyone else, their presence, the sound of their voices, their very existence was completely gone, out of her sight, out of her mind.

 _Him_. 

His eyes weaving their gaze into hers, his touch and the warmth of his skin on hers... those were the only thoughts in her head, the only things she could feel. 

Unblinking, she held his gaze. Seconds trickled away. He refused to relent, and she couldn’t let go either. She didn’t want to give up. She longed for this to go on forever, for this moment to never pass, to be burned into her mind until she was no more. He leaned forward, his eyes locking her in an embrace far more intimate than a physical touch, and her fingers twitched. Her palms were soaked with sweat; a pleasurable ache hit her belly. She didn’t know what would happen next. She dared not think about it.

A deep breath, he let out, and she felt another tingle down her spine. A laboured heave of his broad chest, she was teased with, and she had to make an effort to get some air into her lungs.

More seconds passed. 

Battle, cutting down enemies, all of those, she could deal with, but this--whatever _this_ was, was beginning to slowly take her down. 

And then, something in his eyes changed; something emerged; something different; something unnerving, yet exhilarating. A fire, was it? Or was it a storm? Or was it a giant wave on its way to drown her? Lust, longing, a hunger, a craving or maybe… deep affection? She couldn’t make out one emotion from another. All she knew was that he made her squirm. He made her want him like she’d never desired anyone before. He made her--

Biting her lip, she couldn’t help it when her resolve bit the dirt, succumbing, surrendering, unable to keep her calm under the passion with which those green eyes devoured her.

Jaime punched his fist to the table with a triumphant, “I win,” his eyes continuing to torture her. 

“Aha!” Tyrion exclaimed, examining her with great interest. “A tough fight, that was. A battle of equals. But you seem quite flustered, my lady. What--”

“He cheated,” Brienne blurted out without thinking, frustrated and still reeling under the power of his penetrating gaze.

Jaime turned to her and said, “I did not,” in an indignant tone. “What did I do?”

Tyrion took turns to scrutinize both of them. “I’d like to know as well, Lady Brienne. What has my brother done to deserve this accusation?”

“He--um--” she began, thinking fast of a way to wriggle out of this. Of course, she couldn't confess about the way he had been looking at her, about how profoundly it affected her.

“Yes, my lady?” Tyrion prompted.

Sensing the best way out of this mess was to seek refuge in her chambers, Brienne stood up. “I have to leave,” she announced, the sight of Tormund heading in their direction an added motivation for her to get the hell out of there.

Jaime searched her face. “Why--”

“Headache,” she muttered before he could finish, then without glancing at either of the brothers or Pod, she stormed out of there.

 _No,_ claimed a part of her mind that was still untouched by the wine as she sprang up the stairs. _It can’t be. That was just a stupid game. He's drunk. He cannot be attracted to me. Not when he still has Cersei--_

_Cersei._

The name was a bolt of lightning, hitting Brienne right at the heart, the beautiful face reminding her of where she stood in Jaime’s life. His heart had no room for her, for his twin would always reside in it, never to be ousted, never to be replaced. A fellow knight was all she’d remain, and maybe a friend even, but no more than that.

When she reached her doorstep, she stopped for a second to clutch her chest, unsure whether the burst of pain was due to the sudden exertion on her still-raw wounds or the cry of her heart--

“Brienne.”

Her first instinct was to ignore him, to push her door open and escape into the safe security of solitude before he could reach her, but something in the way he said her name made her pause until he approached her.

As soon as he was close enough to start a conversation, she decided to confront him. “Why are you here?” 

“Why did you leave?” he asked, his eyes sparking off the same fiery heat, his tone authoritative and demanding, as if it was his right to know.

“I told you. Headache--”

“Stop lying to me,” he growled, and before she could find the right string of words to power this argument, he had her cornered, his hand over her shoulder and resting on the door, his chest nearly touching hers, obstructing her path. “Why did you say that to Tyrion?” he said, lowering his tone, his handsome face inching close to hers, his twitching lips flooding her mind’s eye with the fantasies that often made her blush and squirm with pleasure.

Determined not to crumble, she gathered her composure. “It doesn’t matter--”

“What did I do, wench?” 

His deep, throaty voice shot directly through her and she bit her lip in desperation, unable to resist his charm, failing, despite many attempts, to let her rational thoughts prevail. He was looking at her _like that_ again, like she was all he wanted and yearned for. An effect of the wine he’d consumed, perhaps, short lived, only to last until he began pining for his sister again.

“I said it doesn’t matter,” she repeated, slightly louder this time when Cersei’s face swam across her mind, wiping out all her dreams, her visions and her craving for a life she could never have.

“It _does_ ,” he softly asserted, “for me.”

“Oh, shut up,” she cried, the corners of her eyes burning as she tried not to picture him in Cersei’s bed, wrapped in her arms, warm and contented. “Stop this. Stop it at once.”

He looked perplexed and somewhat miffed. “What the hell is wrong with you, wench? What have I done to--”

“The way you looked at me,” she said it at last, her voice cracking under her emotional strain. “The game we were forced to engage in downstairs--”

“That wasn’t a game,” he snapped to interrupt her. “It was--”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, stunning him into silence. “What is the point?” she fumed, trying not to burst into tears. “We both know you’re going to leave, come morning. If not tomorrow, you’ll be gone the day after that, or the one after that. So how the hell do my feelings matter when you’re back to your sister’s arms, never to see me again. You're soon going to forget that we ever had this evening together--”

She had to stop right there, for what he did next threw her off-track, setting the world around her spinning like a mad top.

Before she could react, he had her pinned her to the door, his body pressed against hers, his mouth on hers. He was on fire. Every bit of him. And he dragged her along, to burn and be destroyed in this sweet passion, devouring her like his eyes had done earlier. His hand dropped to her neck, his fingers wandering back and forth, up and down… 

The pressure of his mouth on hers was magical, the intrusion of his tongue as if to claim what belonged to him leaving her clinging to him, desperate for mercy, yet wanting him to go on and never let go of her. Every little move of his hand was a tiny explosion within her, delightful little bursts of torture. 

She had lost control of her senses, of her sense of direction and orientation, the floor above her and the ceiling at her feet, everything upside down and chaotic.

All, except him, his lips, his hand, his body...

With nowhere else to go and nothing else she desired more than him, she let go of her inhibitions, giving in to whatever he gave her - his fierce kisses, his gentle caresses, the sensuous feel of his hard chest on her soft breasts… 

The world around her had, thank the gods, righted itself when he stopped kissing her.

“My eyes never lie, Brienne,” he said, delving deep into hers and bewitching her with his easy charm again. “Nor do yours.”

She wanted to believe it, yet a part of her mind was haunted by a lingering question. “But don’t you want to go home? Your sister--”

“I _am_ home, my lady,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with fondness no one had shown her before. “It has taken me ages, but I did manage to get there eventually. And I’m going nowhere.”

She smiled, elated, yet still unable to believe this was happening. “Ser Jaime--”

“ _Jaime_ ,” he corrected, brushing his lips against hers. “I quite like the sound of my name falling off your lips like that.”

Then he kissed her again, deeply and passionately, as if the Seven kingdoms would perish and the world would come to an end the next instant if he didn't, leading Brienne to uncover something else about him.

Not just his eyes, his lips didn’t lie either. 


End file.
